Danny Phantom's The Raven
by PhantoMunk
Summary: Edgar Allen Poes "The Raven" tweaked for Danny. I don't own The Raven or Danny Phantom


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,  
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,  
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,  
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my bedroom door.  
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my bedroom door -  
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,  
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.  
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow  
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Samantha -  
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Samantha -  
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain  
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;  
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating  
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door -  
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my bedroom door; -  
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,  
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;  
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,  
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my bedroom door,  
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -  
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,  
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before  
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,  
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Samantha!'  
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Samantha!'  
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the bedroom turning, all my soul within me burning,  
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.  
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;  
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -  
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -  
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,  
In there stepped a stately Tucker of the saintly days of yore.  
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;  
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my bedroom door -  
Perched upon a bust of Plasmius just above my bedroom door -  
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,  
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,  
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no Tucker.  
Ghastly grim and ancient Tucker wandering from the nightly shore -  
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Amitian shore!'  
Quoth the Tucker, `Dude, Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,  
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;  
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being  
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his bedroom door -  
Bird or ghost above the sculptured bust above his bedroom door,  
With such name as ` Nevermore.'

But the Tucker, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,  
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.  
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -  
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -  
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'  
Then the bird said, `Dude, Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,  
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,  
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster  
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -  
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore  
Of "Never- Nevermore."'

But the Tucker still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,  
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;  
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking  
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -  
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore  
Meant in croaking ` Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing  
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;  
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining  
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,  
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,  
_She_ shall press, ah, Nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer  
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.  
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee  
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Samantha!  
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Samantha!'  
Quoth the Tucker, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -  
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,  
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -  
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -  
Is there - _is_ there fudge in the OP center fridge? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'  
Quoth the Tucker, `Man, Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - ghostly still, if bird or devil!  
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that CLockwork we both adore -  
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,  
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Samantha -  
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the Observers named Samantha?'  
Quoth the Tucker, `Dude, Nevermore dude.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -  
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!  
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!  
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!  
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'  
Quoth the Tucker, `Dude, Nevermore.'

And the Tucker, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting  
On the pallid bust of Plasmius just above my bedroom door;  
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,  
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;  
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
Shall be lifted - Nevermore!


End file.
